


Mob Murders

by whosrickygoldsworth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: 1920s Detective AU, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Mob, Anakin and Padmé aren't together at the start, But we still use love of force, Dark!Padmé Amidala, F/M, I actually outlined this for once, Mob Boss Padmé Amidala, No Jedi, Private Eye Anakin Skywalker, bc WHY NOT?, but make it 1920s crime, but might as well have fun on the way, but they will be, no Sith, senate murders, you already know the murderer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25663201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whosrickygoldsworth/pseuds/whosrickygoldsworth
Summary: Anakin's working late into the night when she walks in. Padme Amidala, crime boss and lady of death. She enlists his help in the death of her Uncle Ono, inviting him into her dark world of crime. He enters, eyes open, but still not expecting what may come next.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

Anakin Skywalker was working late into the night, the perfect image of an exhausted private eye. The four moons of Coruscant sent moonlight through the blinds. Their inconsistent light was tempered by the banker’s lamp on his desk, illuminating a typewriter and notebook on his desk. His blue tie was draped around his neck, having been untied two hours earlier. His suspenders were resting on his hips, their imprint still obvious on his wrinkled white shirt. A record player was spinning quietly in the corner, the disc too scratched to produce much sound beyond a gentle whirring.

But then that whirring stopped suddenly, and when Anakin looked up, he saw the player’s needle lifted by a beautiful woman with red lips. Her pale skin almost glowed in the moonlight, and as she made eye contact with Anakin, she took off her black hat, which had previously concealed her face and winding curls, chestnut brown in color and cascading down her back. She seemed unnatural, as did her entrance. The only door to his office was impossibly prone to creaks, the wooden floor even more so, and yet Anakin had heard nothing until she chose to make a sound.

“Anakin Skywalker,” she said. “My name is Padme Amidala.” That name rang through the city’s silent streets, inspiring fear. The woman standing before him was infamous amongst criminals, a regal woman who left bodies and lovestruck men in her wake. A freckle rested on her cheekbone, the mark distinguishing her from those in her employ, most of which looked stunningly like her. It made it near impossible for police to tie her or her lackeys to a crime. The suspect could have committed a near-perfect crime, leaving little evidence, but her doppleganger would be seen by plenty of witnesses at the same time, and no court could determine who had really been at the scene.

But Anakin didn’t show his fear, instead leaning back and beckoned the crime boss with two crooked fingers. This was his office, and no matter who stepped through that door, from crime bosses to city detectives, they answered to him. She complied with his silent authority and set her hat on his coat rack, next to his own dark brown fedora. Amidala sat across the desk from him. She perched in his leather chair, elbow resting on one armrest and a pen twirling between her fingers.

“And why has the leader of the Naboo crime syndicate come to me?” Anakin asked. “Surely any investigation could be handled by someone within your organization. Or at the very least, one would think one of your underlings could attend to such a matter. What requires your personal attention?”

“Onaconda Farr is dead.” Her voice barely wavered. Nevertheless she gave it the weight required for the death of one involved in a crime family and dear to the person sitting in front of him.

“I know the name,” Anakin said. Onaconda Farr was deep within the crime world, a former leader in his own gang for years before it started floundering. In a last ditch effort, he had tried to merge with another, only to be betrayed. Blood had drenched Rodia Street for days on end, only stopped by Amidala’s swift action and folding Farr’s remaining men into her own ranks.

“Murdered in my own study, possibly by someone I trusted. And while the city detective has a promising reputation, it goes without saying that anyone within the police won’t get far,” Amidala said. “A private eye seemed the best choice, and you were properly vetted and highly recommended.”

“Who’s assigned to the case?” he asked.

“Detective Kenobi. As I said, he’s very competent. His record speaks for itself. And he’s surprisingly well-groomed for an employee of the state,” she said with a smirk, watching his reaction to her praising another man.

“Love of the Force, you sound like that Kryze social worker Obi-wan’s always going on about,” Anakin groaned. “Man’s a magnet.”

“While I understand a bit of jealousy, Detective, I wouldn’t sell yourself short in the process,” Amidala said. “But despite his clean looks, I don’t think a straight-laced detective like Kenobi would work, given the unique politics of this case. Hence why I thought it best to seek out your expertise as well.”

“It’s an intriguing case,” he admitted. “I do wonder who would dare to kill someone in your own office, aside from someone acting with your blessing. But I’ll need more information and a hefty sum before I agree to investigate.”

“Money is no issue,” Amidala said, waving one gloved hand dismissively. “I would have been here sooner, but Detective Kenobi kept me in the police station for exhaustive questioning. And I needed to address my employees and question them before I came to you. I would never sanction my own uncle’s murder, and murder in my own complex, especially one I maintain as my home as well, is something I will not tolerate.”

“Murder outside your complex, however,” Anakin remarked under his breath. “Is that acceptable to you?”

“Depending on the circumstances, it could be a necessary evil,” Amidala replied, her brown eyes flashing.

“Tell me about last night,” Anakin changed the subject, steepling his fingers.

“I hosted a small gathering for my twenty-seventh birthday,” Amidala said. “We spent the entire night in my complex, and I had guards with us at all times. We had dinner, identical meals prepared by my chefs. They’re held to the highest standard, both in culinary prowess and loyalty to me. After dinner, we spent the evening in my lounge, shooting the breeze with card games. About midnight, we retired to my study for a drink.”

“Special bottle for the occasion, I assume?” Anakin said.

“My family’s winery produces excellent wine, and I keep a decanter of my finest in the study. I poured us all drinks. Halle Burtoni interrupted us, clearly drunk out of her mind. She was trying to gloat, claiming she had found evidence that would bring Bail Organa, and by association, possibly me, down. But she wasn’t of her own mind, and one of my closest guards escorted her after the building.”

“Do you know what she was talking about?” Anakin asked.

“She claimed that one of her lackeys had seen Bail with another woman.”

“Most of your own staff are women,” Anakin pointed out. “Certainly there could have been business reasons for such a meeting?”

“Burtoni claimed that her man, someone named Bric, had seen Bail kissing this mystery woman, but it’s utterly ridiculous. He’s more loyal to Breha than politicians are to corruption,” Amidala dismissed. “Uncle Ono insisted that she leave, and I agreed. So I had Rabe escort her out into the night. Then while we were talking, Uncle Ono fell down dead. No blood, no obvious injuries. Just a minute before, he had been perfectly fine.”

“Sounds like poison,” Anakin speculated. “Unless he happened to coincidentally drop dead in a room full of his closest allies, which seems more than unlikely to me. I’d put in a call to the coroner’s office and ask for a toxicology report.”

“That’s what your public counterpart said as well, and I’m inclined to agree,” Amidala replied. “He put in a request to the coroner and took away the food and wine for testing. All the cooks in my employ that night were brought in for questioning.”

“Well, I look for the motive. And based on that, I would expect a greater mastermind. And possibly another target,” the detective said.

“But we all ate and drank the same thing, and no one else has reported even feeling mildly under the weather,” Amidala said. “Unless his glass itself was poisoned, you’d think at least a few of us would show symptoms, if not meet the same fate.”

“Who was there?” Anakin asked.

“Myself and Uncle Ono, of course,” Amidala answered. “My closest employees, Bail Organa, Mon Mothma, and Uncle Ono’s niece and assistant, Lolo Purs. As I told you, Halle Burtoni interrupted us, but my guard led her out quickly. Given our history, she’d be my first suspect, but she was too drunk to successfully kill anyone.”

“Your history with Ms. Burtoni?” Anakin echoed.

“Bail and I control a great deal of the lower income neighborhoods. We ask some of the local children to perform small errands for us, like grabbing supplies for the cooks. Small tasks, nothing that would get them into trouble with other gangs or the police, but enough to put food on their tables,” Amidala said.

“I assume Burtoni doesn’t share your sense of charity?” Anakin asked.

“It’s not charity to refuse to take advantage of someone’s poverty. Even someone with a toothpick for a moral backbone would feel the same. But if you have no such backbone or no respect for your workers, like Burtoni, such things are perfectly acceptable,” Amidala countered. “But I digress. In recent months, my agents have found her drones in my territory, recruiting these poor kids to rob houses and sell controlled substances. Bail’s reported similar tactics in his territory. It’s absolutely vile.”

“Did you confront these lackeys?” Anakin said.

“Of course. There’s a warehouse that we raided recently, believing it to be their office in the borough, but instead we found a great deal of weapons, no doubt supplied by Mee Deechi,” Amidala said. “We were considering what other consequences to inflict, but no decisions had been made as of last night. If Burtoni is behind Uncle Ono’s murder, blood atonement will be demanded.”

“I assume that would be the case if anyone had murdered Mr. Farr,” Anakin said, pulling out a notebook and jotting down names. “You said Mee Deechi and Burtoni were likely in cahoots with each other. Is he possibly a suspect?”

“More than possibly. In fact, given Burtoni’s inebriated state, I’d even call Deechi suspect number one,” Amidala said. “Will you take the case?” She produced a black bag and from it, a small pouch jingling with credits.

“I will. For a sizable sum, half of which to be delivered now and the other half when I find the culprit. I will also request protection, provided by you and your employees. I’m not naive enough to forget that taking this case might result in a target on my back,” Anakin said, holding a hand out for the pouch. Amidala passed it to him and he spread the credits out across the table, finding them more than enough.

“As you wish, detective,” Amidala said. “If you require any supplies or wish to take advantage of my connections, I will do my best to provide you with the best means to investigate. I want to find out who killed my uncle, and who had the audacity to commit such a crime under my nose.”

“You said you had staff with you that night. I expect Detective Kenobi will have the kitchen staff covered, but I’d like to speak to any guards or the like who were in the room with you and Farr. If you would bring them to my office tomorrow morning, I could question them then. I’ll also seek out the other five names you provided and question them as well,” Anakin said.

“It will be done. My guards will be here in the morning. Thank you, Detective Skywalker,” Amidala said. She turned and left, her purple silk skirt shifting as she walked. Once again, she made little sound, gliding over the floorboards without even a small creak. Even the night air didn’t carry the normal sounds of automobiles crossing cobblestone streets, as if out of respect for the woman. Anakin watched the doorway long after she left, the lavender scent of her perfume lingering. His poor metal fan tried to dissipate it to no avail; it was already locked in the detective’s memory.

His gaze finally fell to his typewriter once more, the blank paper reflecting up at him. He scratched the back of his neck before setting his hands on the typewriter. The clicking soothed him. It coaxed his thoughts and theories into words, typed out in ink, as jet black as the night outside his office.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Anakin found himself faced by four women. They all wore dark blue skirts and white blouses, their ensembles finished off by white cloches decorated with elaborate silver hairpins. Looking at his coat rack, Anakin saw four red peacoats. Three of the women looked identical, with brown curls mimicking Amidala’s own and dark brown eyes. They sat in front of his desk, his own chair appropriated to fit all the women. They held the same pose, perfectly straight backs and eyes that watched him closely.

“Miss Amidala asked us to visit you, Mr. Skywalker,” the fourth woman said. “Are you ready to take our testimonies?” She had sleek blonde hair and icy blue eyes, a stark difference from the others. Still, she held herself as straight as the others, and her voice was stern and businesslike when she addressed Anakin. 

“Give me just a moment,” Anakin said, taking off his grey trench coat. When he had made his way to the desk, he took out his notebook and pencil, readying himself. “Very well. Let’s begin. I’d like to interview you individually. Would three of you mind stepping out for a moment?”

“That doesn’t seem like an effective use of your time, Mr. Skywalker,” one of the brunettes said. “Surely, if we were to coordinate our stories, we would have done it in the day since the murder, or while we were waiting here before you got here. So in your fruitless attempts to catch a liar before they even open their mouth, you’d waste time that could be used to catch a killer by listening to the same story four times over?” 

Anakin sighed and pinched his brow. Given that his seat was taken, he perched on his desk instead. He opened his notebook, thankful that it had a hard leather cover. “Very well,” he conceded, uncapping his fountain pen. “I suppose you’re all settled anyway. Would you all mind introducing yourselves?”

“Eirtae,” the blonde said. She took him in with piercing eyes, as she was the one asking the questions and he was in the hot seat. “I manage Amidala’s communications, which included sending out the invitations for her soiree two nights ago.”

“Rabe,” the brunette next to her said. “I handle some of Amidala’s assets, typically fine art, in addition to whatever else she might ask of me.” Like Eirtae, she also seemed to examine him and find his flaws as she spoke, like she would a piece of fine art. Anakin was suddenly aware of the chipped olive paint on his walls and his honey-colored hair that refused to lay flat, no matter how much pomade he put in it. 

“I’m Dorme,” said the second brunette. “I was one of the first people Amidala brought in. All of us were.” She seemed sadder and more withdrawn than the others, sagging against the back of her seat and looking at her clasped hands. 

“Sabe,” said the brunette who’d spoken to him originally. “Padme and I grew up next door to each other. Used to sneak across the roof and slip in each other’s rooms at night. When she took charge of the Naboo syndicate, she asked me to join her. And I didn’t hesitate.” She smiled softly at the memory.

“Last names?” Anakin asked. In the margins of his notebook, he scrawled a diagram of four dots, each corresponding to a different seat, and wrote the women’s names underneath each dot. 

“We don’t use them,” Sabe said. “In order to keep our dealings as private as possible. You understand, of course.” 

Anakin resisted the urge to scowl. Amidala had told him her employees would cooperate, and yet he seemed to be taking orders from them. But he was getting paid a great deal and he was a professional, so he merely took a deep breath. “Very well. Were the four of you all the guards on the night of Mr. Onaconda Farr’s death?” Anakin asked. “Or were there others?”

“Teckla was there as well,” Dorme said. “But she had to leave early. She had a family emergency she had to attend to. We can account for all of her actions that night, though, I’m sure of it. I was by her side right up until she left.” 

“I’d rather talk to her myself. Can you give me her address?” Anakin asked. 

“No,” the four said immediately. 

“In our line of work, we don’t give out addresses,” Sabe said coldly, leaving no room for Anakin to argue. 

“Especially for people like Teckla,” Eirtae said, glaring intensely at him.

“What makes her different?” Anakin asked.

“She has a family. Two children, the nice little house, even a dog. Telling you where she lives might endanger them, and we can’t do that. We won’t do that,” Rabe said. Anakin nodded in understanding. 

“We can give her your number and tell her to call you, but that’s all we can do. And you’re lucky we’re even doing that much,” Dorme said.

“I understand. If you could pass my card along to her, I would appreciate it,” Anakin said, sliding a business card across the table. Eirtae reached out and took it. “Thank you for your cooperation, ladies.” 

“We’re only doing it because Padme asked us to,” Eirtae said.

“Regardless of your reasons, I appreciate your time and your honesty. Would you all please, one by one, give your version of events?” Anakin said. 

“Bail, Mon, Ono, and Lolo were all invited to celebrate Padme’s twenty-seventh birthday,” Eirtae said. “I sent invitations out two weeks ago. Sent them with some random neighborhood boys. They all reported no interruptions on their missions.”

“Were the four of you not invited?” Anakin asked, wrinkling his brow.

“Padme prefers to celebrate her birthday in small groups,” Sabe said. “Easier to keep secure, and we can change the mood to fit the group.”

“The mood?” Anakin pressed.

“Well, Padme’s very close with her associates. She refers to Ono as her uncle, and Bail’s almost a brother to her,” Eirtae said. “But due to the nature of their business, it’s much more formal. There’s a certain etiquette no one can really explain. But we celebrated her birthday the night before all this awful business, and our celebration was much more… casual.” She and the other girls shared a coy smile. Even Dorme, who had barely spoken, let the corners of her mouth drift upwards. 

“So none of you were upset about not being invited?” Anakin asked.

“Our party was much more fun,” Rabe said with a smile. All the other women nodded in agreement. “And no one died at ours.” 

“I suppose that’s fair. But you were all there when Onaconda Farr died. What were you doing that night?”

“Guard duty,” Sabe said. “Sabe, Eirtae, and I were always in the room with Padme and her friends. If they needed something, we provided it.”

“Did they make many requests of you that night?” Anakin said. 

“I escorted Burtoni out of the study after she burst in, drunk as all get out,” Rabe said. “She was making a ruckus, Farr suggested she leave, Padme seconded the suggestion. So I followed orders, dumped her out in the street, and went back inside. I didn’t stay to watch, but I assume she hailed a cab. Aside from that, we were pretty much decorative, blending in with the shadows.” 

“Sabe, Eirtae, do you have anything to add?” Anakin asked.

“Seemed exhaustive to me,” Eirtae said. “But I’d like to say for the record, that none of us in this room would go against Padme. Nor would Teckla. Ono stood by Padme’s side when she needed him, and she did the same for him. We respect that, and we respect Padme’s wishes above all else.”

“I believe you,” Anakin said. “It seems like you would all do anything for Padme. I’m sorry, Ms. Amidala. Can I assume that I can call on you if I need any further information?” 

The four women echoed their agreement. “Is there anything else you require of us?” Dorme said.

“Well, the other three said that they were in the study. Where were you and Teckla?” Anakin asked.

“Padme’s study has one entrance. Double doors and a guard standing on either side. That was Teckla and I’s job. Half past eight, Teckla took a call. She found out her child was sick. She asked Padme for permission to leave and was out by nine,” Dorme said. Her voice was quiet and shaky, and come what may, Anakin needed to press further.

“Were the doors to Amidala’s office guarded at all times?” he asked.

“I had to get a package. I don’t remember the time, but I know it was after Teckla left and before Padme and her friends went into the study.” She rubbed her arms, starting to shudder and sob. “Force, what if one of the glasses was poisoned during that time? What if Padme had drank the poison instead? I’d never forgive myself.” 

Rabe reached over and hugged Dorme, who shuddered as she leaned into her friend. On her other side, Sabe leaned over and rubbed Dorme’s knee reassuringly. Eirtae stood behind them, massaging Dorme’s shoulders. “Shh, shh. Padme’s okay. We’re okay. You’re not responsible for anything.”

“It wasn’t anything important,” Dorme said, starting to cry in full force. “It was just some special books Padme had ordered. Some antique books that were worth a lot, but not worth Padme’s life. I almost killed her. Over some stupid books! If I hadn’t left my post, she never would have been in any danger. But I did! I put one of my best friends in danger. Padme almost died because of me.”

“I’m going to find out who did this,” Anakin said, leaning forward and passing her a tissue. “Your boss, she won’t come to any harm. I promise you.” 

“You’d better make sure of that, Detective Skywalker,” Sabe said. “Now, if you don’t have further questions, we’ll take our leave.” Anakin nodded and the women left the office, hustled around Dorme. Anakin pulled his chair back behind his desk and started adding to the timeline Amidala had started last night. 

He spent the morning leaning over his notebook and making calls, his candlestick telephone in frequent use. The final guard, Teckla, called him a bit before lunchtime. She sounded exhausted as she told him how she had left work early to care for a suddenly and severely ill child, and the groaning in the background only confirmed her story. Anakin thanked her and let her go. 

“I came because I thought Detective Kenobi had more questions for me, but if not, I’ll be on my way,” a new voice said. Anakin looked up to see a slim, tall woman. He would estimate her as in her sixties, with white streaks evident even in her pale hair and even paler bony cheekbones. She had big grey eyes, accentuated by purple eyeshadow, and wore dangling diamond earrings. She wore a heathered black dress with translucent sleeves and a ruffle around the collar. 

“Ms. Halle Burtoni, I presume?” Anakin said, walking to the doorway to greet her. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay and answer some questions. It would allow me to get to the bottom of this and get this affair over with.”

“Indeed,” the woman sneered, stepping past him. She took in his office and tapped manicured fingers against his scuffed filing cabinet. “Well, even if I didn’t intend to be, I’m here now. Why are you involved in Farr’s death?”

“Ms. Amidala has hired me as an independent third party. She believes I may be able to resolve these matters faster than the city detective, and I can procure a recommendation from him if you’d like,” Anakin said. “But I do want to ask you about your actions two nights ago. Can you tell me what you remember from that night?”

“I was drunk, as I’m sure Amidala has already told you. With her own embellishments to make me look worse, no doubt,” Burtoni said, waving her hand dismissively. “Regardless of what that Delilah told you, I don’t remember much.”

“Tell me what you do remember,” Anakin said. “Did you go to Amidala’s headquarters two nights ago?”

“Yes,” Burtoni said. “She and that Organa scumbag raided one of my warehouses. That’s trespassing and destruction of property, at best. I tried to tell that detective, but he said he wasn’t interested in such petty crimes.” 

“To be frank, Ms. Burtoni, unless this raid led to Onaconda Farr’s death, neither am I. When you confronted him, did you also accuse Bail Organa of having an affair?” Anakin continued. He sat behind his desk, watching Burtoni as she remained standing, as if sitting down would give her an infection. 

“Oh, more than accuse. He can play White Knight, but I have a picture proving otherwise,” Burtoni said. 

“Do you have a copy of the photo with you?” Anakin asked. Burtoni took a small photo out of her leather handbag and placed it on the desk. Anakin picked it up and lifted it up to the light, seeing the forty-something year old man hugging a younger woman at an outdoor restaurant.

“Would you mind if I kept this?” Anakin asked, twisting it between his fingers. 

“Not at all,” Burtoni said with a lecherous smile. “That’s merely a copy. I have multiple back-ups. After Organa claimed to have no idea what I was talking about, I thought I’d show him a copy of the photo tomorrow. And then I woke up with a dreadful hangover and a message from Deechi saying Farr was dead.” She shrugged, as if the man’s death was of no more importance than her hangover.

“Well, Ms. Burtoni, I think you already know why I’ve invited you here, so I’ll cut straight to the point. Were you there just to confront Amidala and Organa, or did you have darker purposes? Like killing Onaconda Farr?” Anakin said.

“Why would I kill that fool?” Burtoni said, shaking with laughter. “Farr was sloppy. He got people killed not by his direction but by his incompetence! Give it time and he would get himself arrested, if not killed. And possibly Amidala and Organa along with him! Amidala taking pity on Farr was the best thing that ever happened to my organization. Why on earth would I kill that sorry excuse for a man?”

“So, to be clear, you are denying that you were involved in Onaconda Farr’s death?” Anakin said.

“Exactly,” Burtoni insisted. “Even if I did want to kill him, I wouldn’t do it myself. I would have an associate do it on my behalf.” 

“I understand. Thank you for your time and for this photo. Now, if you would mind showing yourself the door, I have some other business to attend to,” Anakin said. He stood and turned to the window, effectively dismissing her. After the bare minimum of compliance shown by Amidala’s closest and most trustworthy and the disgust radiating off Burtoni, he felt a need to reestablish himself in his own office. 

Behind him, he heard Burtoni scoff before turning around. Her skirts swished as she left, and her stomps only exacerbated the creaks of the floor beneath her heels. When the sounds of traffic outside ebbed and subsided, Anakin turned around with a smirk on his face. He picked up the earpiece. “Hello, operator speaking,” a voice said. “Who should I connect you to this afternoon?”

“Yes, I’d like to speak to Detective Kenobi at Jedi Police Station,” he told the operator, leaning into the transmitter of his candlestick telephone.

“Hello, Obi-wan Kenobi speaking,” the city detective answered.

“Hey Obi-wan,” Anakin said. “I think our professional paths have crossed again. I heard you were working the death of Onaconda Farr?”

“Yes,” Obi-wan said. “Did someone hire you to investigate?”

“The lady of death herself,” Anakin answered. “Apparently, Amidala wants to break the neck of whoever dares murder her beloved Uncle Ono without her permission. And in her own home, at that.” The sarcasm rolled off his tongue with ease. 

“Well, well, well,” Obi-wan said. “Farr’s blood labs are tied up, but we’ve gotten the results back from testing the wine and the food. They’ve all come back negative so far, but we’ll be able to justify more intensive tests once we’ve got the blood results back. I should get the coroner’s report tomorrow morning, minus the blood labs. Want me to ring you with any updates?”

“Yes please,” Anakin said. “Thanks, Obi Kenobi.”

“Don’t call me Obi, lest our new rookie Tano catches on,” Obi-wan said. Anakin could almost hear the scowl, weakened with amusement, in his voice. “Goodbye for now, Anakin. I’ll talk to you soon as I have any updates.” 

“I have to go, Obi-wan. I have an appointment over lunch. Thanks again,” Anakin said, placing the receiver back on its pedestal. 

Anakin stood up from his desk and grabbed his grey trench coat. He slid his notebook into his pocket and left his office, locking the door twice over. The cafe on the corner was calling his name, particularly their ham and cheese toasted sandwich. Over that meal, he mused over the case so far, drawing connections both in his mind and with a few strokes of his pen. Across from him sat another man, tall and thin, with white slicked-back hair. This man propped his smooth black cane, topped with a crystal knob up against the table. “Mee Deechi,” Anakin said, returning his notebook into his pocket. “Thank you for joining me. I assume your staff have ensured this meets your security requirements?”

“They’ve followed my instructions,” Deechi said. “Let’s cut to the chase. I didn’t kill Farr. I couldn’t have, because I wasn’t even in the city. I was handling some business in the next town over. And I have a list of employees around me that night who can testify to my whereabouts.” He slid a piece of paper over to Anakin. It was decorated with a large silver seal of his initials, with Art Deco frills surrounding it. On it was a list of names and phone numbers, neatly written in dark purple ink.

“Convenient,” Anakin said with a scoff. “The people who are willing to testify on your behalf are also those who are on your payroll. Or you have something over them. Forgive me if I still consider you a suspect.” 

“Well, what if I can give you another lead?” he said with an almost imperceptible shrug. “I was having Farr tailed. Like I do most of my … competition. Perhaps I tell you what my man saw, and perhaps you stop bothering me about something that has nothing to do with me. Could we strike a deal, Detective?” He took out a silver cigarette case, embossed with a twisting snake, and a matching lighter from his pocket. Deechi lit a cigarette before offering the case to Anakin. 

“I won’t excuse you from my investigation,” Anakin said. “But if you give me a lead, perhaps I can find the real culprit.” He stared down Deechi, waved off the cigarette, and with it, rejected Deechi’s deal.

Deechi let out a long-suffering sigh. “Very well. My agent saw Farr enter Palpatine Shipping Industries. Farr met with some nefarious characters, the sort you would expect of Sheev’s company. My eye couldn’t overhear much, but from what he did hear, Farr was working on his own behalf. Without his sponsor’s knowledge.”

“Amidala,” Anakin finished. 

“Indeed,” Deechi said. “Now, if we’re finished, Detective, enjoy the rest of your lunch.” He stood and took his cane with him, followed by a number of other men, previously sitting inconspicuously across the outdoor cafe. Anakin leaned back, watching the other man as he got into a luxurious automobile. 

He took out his notebook again and stared at it, trying to untangle the strings of this complicated case. He still had to interview Amidala’s friends, but he didn’t expect them to know much. Slowly but surely, Amidala became not just his client, but one of his best suspects as well. 


	3. Chapter 3

It was that afternoon that Bail Organa knocked at Anakin’s door, Mon Mothma in tow. He wore a dark blue pinstripe suit. His companion wore a white, fur-collared coat over a tailored light grey dress. In the street was a freshly-shined automobile. Both looked more like members of upper class society than feared leaders of the criminal underworld. “Detective Skywalker, I presume?” Organa said when Anakin opened the door. “Amidala briefed us on your involvement. We’re here to answer your questions, if you’re available at the moment.”

“We can come back later if now is a bad time,” Mothma said. 

“No, now is fantastic,” Anakin said. “Please, come in. May I offer you coffee? Just brewed some.” Both nodded. Mothma placed her straw hat on Anakin’s coat rack, and Bail happily accepted a cup of strong, black coffee. 

“We were celebrating Padme’s birthday, as I’m sure she told you,” Bail said. 

“Well, you know how private she can be, Bail. She might have left that out,” Mothma said jokingly. “Regardless, we were there for a casual evening. No business, just some dinner and drinks with friends. Amidala was very clear in her invitation to leave all business at the door.” Mothma gestured with a silver spoon as she talked, later dropping it into her coffee cup to stir in two cubes of sugar.

“I heard there was an altercation with Halle Burtoni,” Anakin said, as he took a seat behind his desk. “I’m assuming that was business-related.”

“Well, she wasn’t invited in the first place. The guest list was strictly limited to Amidala’s closest colleagues and friends, neither of which applied to Burtoni. She burst in about eleven, I think,” Mothma said.

“No, it was later than that, because we were in the study,” Bail countered. “Maybe twelve thirty?” 

“You’re right,” Mothma said. “I thought she was mad about her turf war, with Bail and Padme. But she started going on and on about some affair she thought Bail was having. Which is utterly ridiculous.” 

“I love my wife, Detective Skywalker,” Bail said sincerely. “And I’d never even think about cheating on her.” 

“Actually, I spoke with Ms. Burtoni earlier. Not only did she reiterate her claims, she provided a photo of Mr. Organa with the woman she believed was your mistress,” Anakin said, sliding a photo across the desk. It was of Bail hugging a woman, much younger and blonder than his wife.

Bail picked up the photo and laughed. It was a full-hearted laugh. “So this is what Burtoni was talking about!” he said. “This isn’t some mistress.” 

“May I ask why it’s so amusing to you?” Anakin asked. 

Bail took out his pocket watch and passed it to Anakin. Opposite the elegant watch face was a picture of Breha Organa. She was in her forties, the same as Bail, and wore her hair in an elegant chignon under a felt hat. She looked at the camera with fondness, and Bail looked at the portrait the same way. 

“I took this photo of my wife Breha,” Bail said. “We’ve been trying to have a child for years. We’ve tried everything, to no avail. So we were looking into adoption. The woman in Burtoni’s photo is Rosie Sanderson. She’s our social worker and an absolute miracle. I was hugging her because she just told me that we had an interview to meet the foster mother of a little girl. Her name is Winter and she’s absolutely perfect. In fact, we got a call earlier that day. We were approved and we’re bringing her home in three days.” 

“That’s why Breha wasn’t at the party,” Mon Mothma said. “She and some of her friends were going shopping for the child. Padme was sad, but she understood how much Bail and Breha wanted a child. She almost considered postponing the party so that Breha could come.”

“They were going to go shopping yesterday. But Padme assumed she’d have an organizational crisis on her hands, so they postponed it to tomorrow,” Bail said. “Mon and I are meeting them for lunch.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it was just a misunderstanding,” Anakin said. “And congratulations on your upcoming child. I heard that Mr. Farr asked Ms. Burtoni to leave?”

“Yes,” Bail said. “Ono’s been a good friend to me over the years. And Breha trusts him as well.”

“And Ms. Mothma, what was your relationship with Mr. Farr?” Anakin asked.

“Cordial, I suppose,” she said with a shrug. “We knew each other through Bail and Padme, and through extension, our work. But we never made plans or talked outside of work. He seemed like a nice man, albeit with his own demons. And a long history of mistakes. I hope you catch his killer.” 

“I’ll do my best, ma’am. I just have one last question for the two of you,” Anakin said. “Do either of you know why Farr would be dealing with Palpatine Shipping Industries? Especially without Amidala’s knowledge.”

Both of his guests looked at him with shock. “Well, if he was, he certainly wouldn’t do it with Padme’s knowledge,” Mothma said. “She loathed Sheev Palpatine, his company, and anyone connected with it.”

“She even made all of her employees sign a contract that they won’t associate with Palpatine or his company. And as much as she cares for him, Ono was no exception. She’d never look at him again, and Ono knew it. He loved her like a niece, if not a daughter. The only reason he doesn’t refer to her as his daughter is that he doesn’t want to besmirch her father’s memory,” Bail said. 

“Really?” Anakin said. “What did she find so disturbing?” 

“Palpatine runs some horrifying things. Human trafficking and the like,” Mothma said. “We didn’t work with them either, but Padme takes it to an entirely different level. I don’t know why. She hated him more than anyone else.” 

“Do you know why, Mr. Organa?” Anakin asked.

“I think it’s something personal,” Bail confessed. “I’m sorry, but you’d have to ask her. She’s very firm about it, but she’s also very private about her reasons. Like she is about most of her personal life. She’s always been that way.”

“How long have you known her?” Anakin asked.

“About six or seven years?” Bail suggested. “I remember how surprised I was to hear how quickly the Naboo syndicate was taking over Coruscant. Mon helped me secure a meeting with the head. I come to this luxurious apartment, looking over the Senate building. And sitting there, glass of whiskey in hand, was a twenty-year-old woman. And I think the shock might have been evident on my face, because she looked at me and told me that I wouldn’t doubt her if I knew what was good for me. And she was right.” He smiled fondly, but in a different way than he had when looking at the picture of his wife. “Real firecracker, she is. Always willing to stand up for people who need it. And never afraid to do what has to be done.” 

“So neither of you knew Ms. Amidala before she became head of the Naboo syndicate?” Anakin asked. Both of his guests shook their heads.

“I think Ono did. But like we said, she rarely talks about her life outside of work,” Bail said. “I’m sorry we can’t give you more information.” 

“It’s alright, Mr. Organa, Ms. Mothma. Thank you for your time,” Anakin said. They said their goodbyes and left his office. Anakin picked up his phone. “Detective Skywalker here. I was hoping Ms. Amidala would be available tonight. I know it’s last minute, but I was hoping I could update her on the progress of the case.”

When Anakin set down the phone, he was met with another guest. This time, it was a young woman, a few years younger than Amidala. She wore a cream tea dress, trimmed with orange lace. “Detective Skywalker? My name is Lolo Purs. I’m Onaconda Farr’s niece. I’m a bit early for our appointment. I hope that’s alright,” she said. 

“Please, come in,” Anakin said. “I’m free right now, and I would love to interview you, if possible. I know, with your uncle’s death, this must be hard. Can I get you a biscuit?” Anakin took a tan shawl from her. 

“No thank you,” Lolo said, sitting down. “I haven’t been able to keep any food down since Uncle Onaconda died. I just can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill him. He was such a good man.” Lolo blotted her eyes with a white handkerchief.

“I heard that Mr. Farr had his regrets. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead,” Anakin said. “But one thing that’s been mentioned repeatedly is the tragedy of Rodia Street. Did Mr. Farr say anything about recent retaliation?” 

“No, and I would know,” Lolo said, nodding passionately. “I’m my uncle’s assistant in all matters, be they professional or personal. I handle his household. I even make sure he gets all of his medicines. I see all of his mail before he does. And nothing would get past me. There were no threats. Everyone loved Ono.” 

“You handle his household? And his medicines?” Anakin asked.

“Yes. He takes medicine for his heart. It’s a genetic condition. All our family does. Or did. With Ono’s death, I’m the last one left,” Lolo said.

“Didn’t you say that Ono was your uncle? What happened to your parents? If you don’t mind me asking,” Anakin said.

“They died,” Lolo said. “In the Rodia Street deaths. Uncle Ono took me in. He’s taken care of me ever since. And I don’t care what Amidala says. She can call him Uncle Ono, but he’s mine. We’re flesh and blood.” 

“And from what I hear, Amidala and Ono had a falling out. He was starting to work with Sheev Palpatine. And Amidala would never have tolerated that,” Anakin said. “Or so Bail Organa tells me.”

“Does Amidala know?” Lolo asked, looking anxious. “Because Bail’s right. She would have been furious. And you don’t want to cross her when she’s mad. Uncle Ono helped her disappear before she became the head of the Naboo crime syndicate. And she snuck back to Coruscant. To watch a man she hated hang. I even heard that his neck didn’t snap. Instead, he suffocated. It was long and painful, and she maintained eye contact with him until the coroner declared him dead.” 

“Really?” Anakin said. “Ono knew Amidala since she was a little girl? I was under the impression that only a few of her workers knew Amidala before she turned to crime. Are you telling me otherwise?”

Lolo nodded. “I don’t want to say much, because I don’t want her to get mad at me. And there’s no chance it was related to Uncle Ono’s death. But I’ll just say she was in really bad shape and Uncle Ono helped her disappear for good reason. And once she returned, she was never the same.” 

“Thank you for telling me, Ms. Purs,” Anakin said. “Do you know why Ono was working with someone at Palpatine Shipping Industries?” 

“No clue,” Lolo said, with wide eyes. “Does Amidala know? Because I would not want to be near her when she does.” 

“I’ll be informing her tonight, but I see no reason to mention you. Thank you for your time. And your warning,” Anakin said. “If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“Please be careful,” Lolo said, leaning over his desk and grabbing his hand. “You’re dealing with some very dangerous people. You seem like a nice person, Detective Skywalker. I’d hate to see you get hurt.” 

“I promise I can handle it,” Anakin said, leaning back so his hand slipped out of hers. “And that I will be on my guard at all times. I’m well aware who I’m dealing with. Anyone could have been the killer.”

“Well, thank you for the talk. It did take a bit of weight off my chest,” Lolo said, gathering her shawl and making her way out of his office. Once she departed into the sunny afternoon, he did the same. 

Anakin got in his automobile, his trusty Skyhopper, which he fixed up all by himself, and drove to the apartment Sabe had directed him to. When he entered the five story building, he found a luxurious lobby. Green sofas dotted the room, under oil paintings and beside end tables balancing bowls of fruit and marble statues. A gold gate separated the lobby from an office, where Anakin noticed one of Amidala’s guards sitting behind the marble desk. This far away, he couldn’t see who it was or hear their voice. But instead of investigating, his attention was fully fixated on the elevator. Anakin tried to resist a grin.

Once, when he was nineteen, he’d made Obi-wan take him to a department store in the city. They had no intention of shopping, and Obi-wan kept looking around like a security guard would throw them out. He’d insisted on buying a gold thimble. Anakin was so excited to see the world from the perspective of the elevator gate that he’d dropped the thimble and dented it. “Well, now I can’t return it. Not like this store would accept a return anyway,” Obi-wan had said good-naturedly.

Now, Anakin walked towards the door to this elevator, just as excited. “Ms. Amidala’s penthouse, if you please,” Anakin said to the doorman. “She’s expecting me. Anakin Skywalker.”

“I’ll have to call up,” the elevator operator said. “You understand of course.” Anakin nodded, and the doorman picked up an elegant, pearl coated telephone. Instead of dialing a phone number, the telephone dial was decorated with nine apartment numbers. An office, an apartment on the first floor, two on the next three floors, and one button labeled PH. 

“Yes?” a feminine voice asked. Anakin assumed it was one of Amidala’s bodyguards, although he couldn’t tell who. Many of them had similar-sounding voices, matching voices and appearances to Amidala.

“You have a guest. A so-called Anakin Skywalker,” the elevator operator said, eying Anakin suspiciously. The operator was a dark-skinned man who took care to keep his outfit pristine. The golden buttons and epaulettes shone against the dark red cloth, and his white gloves were perfectly clean. He wore a monocle over one eye and a hat over tight coils that matched his outfit.

“Sand-colored curls, plenty of muscles, scar over his right eye, overall incredibly attractive. Does that sound about right, Typho?” the voice said. Anakin realized it was Amidala herself, and both he and the elevator operator blushed.

“Yes ma’am. I’ll send him up,” the operator Typho said, setting down the phone. “Please come right this way, sir.” Anakin stepped in giddily, the other man on his heels. Typho pushed a button and the elevator started churning. The elevator was lined with wood and brass panels worked into a beautiful frame of vines and flowers. It was a miraculous feat of engineering and a wondrous work of art. 

Before long, the glorious ride was over and Anakin stepped into a well-decorated apartment. Marble tiles lined the foyer, and vivid green plants thrived, rivaling what he’d seen in award-winning greenhouses. Two black leather settees sat against the wall, underneath a series of paintings. It was an elaborate mix of classical art, primarily landscapes, and more modern pieces. Anakin didn’t understand much of the art world, but it was nonetheless pleasing to the eye, all connected yet different. In the center of the room sat two chairs, a globe between them. The globe itself was a work of art, but Anakin suspected there was liquor inside worth far more than the globe.

In one of those chairs sat Amidala, wearing a white silk dressing gown. It was decorated by red and pink flowers, and as it reached the floor, it grew decidedly more sheer. Anakin could see pale white tights, and when he looked up, Anakin saw a smirk, framed by red lipstick matching the flowers, spread across the crime boss’s face. “Like what you see, Detective Skywalker?” she said.

“Ms. Amidala,” Anakin said, trying and failing to recollect himself. “Is now a bad time? I could come back in the morning.” He fumbled with his hat and dropped the dark grey fedora on the marble floor.

“No, no,” she said, standing. “You came at the perfect time. But it’s been a long day, and I just wanted to be a bit more… comfortable. Now, want to come with me to the scene of the crime?” She held out a manicured hand. “Detective Kenobi already searched it thoroughly. He cleared it, but I’ve been avoiding it nevertheless. If you’d like to go through my drawers, go right ahead.” 

“I would have thought you would have relocated. You said it yourself. Someone had the audacity to take the life of someone you loved in your own home. How do you know they won’t strike again?” Anakin said, taking her hand and folding it into his elbow. She leaned against him, and Anakin was suddenly aware of the fact that, without her heels, she was significantly shorter than him. 

“I have faith in my bodyguards,” Amidala said. “And faith in your investigative skills, Detective Skywalker.” She looked up at him with big brown eyes and a beguiling smile that quickly gave way to a worried frown. “But I will admit I do have some trouble sleeping at night. I keep seeing things out of the corner of my eye. Creaks keep me up at night, but no one else hears them. You said you wanted to discuss the case. Do you have any leads?” 

“Deechi has an iron-clad alibi, if a bit too prepared. And Burtoni is claiming that Farr’s mistakes only benefited her. And your staff and friends didn’t see anything. But nevertheless, I do have one lead,” Anakin said. 

Anakin led Amidala not to her study, but to the lounge. It was decorated in the same style of the foyer. Instead of art, bookshelves lined the lounge, and glancing at the titles, Anakin saw a mix of classic fiction with books written in entirely different languages. In the rare event a shelf wasn’t filled, the books were held in place by bookends, topped by seals balancing marbles on their brass noses. The furniture was all custommade, the dark wood tables decorated with hand-carved flowers and vines. Each table had a lamp on it, the shade stained glass of red and purple. Under one, between two chairs with backs that reached towards the ceiling, was a painting of a lake, framed in ornate gold. In the foreground was a family, picnicking amongst the meadows. 

“So, what is it?” Amidala said, sitting on a red velvet couch. She reached to a crystal decanter, surrounded by simple wine glasses, and poured herself a glass of ruby red liquid. “Would you like some wine?” Anakin shook his head, but sat down next to her. Amidala shrugged and curled up with her glass. She cradled it in her hands and tucked her legs under her. 

“It appears Farr was working with someone at Palpatine Shipping Industries,” Anakin told her, watching her reaction carefully.

“No, no, no. He wouldn’t have,” Amidala said immediately. She grabbed a pillow and held it to her chest. “Palpatine’s an absolute piece of scum, and Uncle Ono knew it. He deals in human trafficking, and he preys on innocent orphans or street children. They see him as some benevolent figure, a frequent donor to orphans and community centers. But it’s all a ploy to draw in his victims. That’s why Bail and I work so hard to hire them whenever possible. They learn to trust us, and we warn them off Palpatine and his cronies. You really think Uncle Ono was working with him?” She looked absolutely heartbroken, her breathing heavy and her lower lip trembling. She didn’t make eye contact with him, instead looking down at his wine as she swirled it in her glass. 

“It’s not confirmed that he was working with Palpatine himself,” Anakin said reassuringly, sitting next to her. “It was someone at his headquarters, but there’s no indication of who it was. It could have just been an unfortunate choice in scenery.” He wanted to reach out, but Lolo’s warnings still held their position at the forefront of his mind. He was dealing with one of the most dangerous women in Coruscant, and he had to remember that. Even her tears, no matter how genuine they may seem, could be false. 

“You really think so?” Amidala said quietly. “It sounds kind of improbable to me.” She looked down at her glass and the pillow. “I don’t want to believe Uncle Ono was working with Palpatine. Uncle Ono knew what a horrible person Palpatine is. What he almost did to my parents.” 

“Your parents?” Anakin asked, placing his arm behind her on the sofa. She leaned into it, resting her head on his arm. 

Amidala carefully considered her words before she spoke, and given how so many of her friends had testified to her need to keep her secrets, Anakin wasn’t surprised. He doubted she had even meant to mention her parents to him. Why would she, when he was a stranger she’d only known for a few days? Even the most in depth vetting process couldn’t tell her how he’d react. 

“My father was a wonderful man,” she said eventually with a bittersweet smile. “When Palpatine was a politician, we lived in his district. My father realized how corrupt Palpatine was. He would take bribes, make sure he and his friends remained on top, no matter how many people got hurt in the process. And so he ran. Not directly against Palpatine, but he was very outspoken. And Palpatine tried to scare him off. A car would almost hit my sister and I on our way to school. My mother would receive a threatening letter with her morning toast. Eventually, one of Palpatine’s cronies rammed my parents off the road. They barely pulled through. My sister and I had to stay with Uncle Ono for two weeks while my parents recovered. Uncle Ono wouldn’t work with Palpatine. He wouldn’t.”

Anakin nodded and reached out to place his hand on her knee. “I’d like to investigate Palpatine Shipping Industries,” he said. “But if it could cause trouble for you with Palpatine, I’d like your blessing.” 

Amidala scoffed. “Good luck getting in. I want you to complete your investigation by any means necessary, but it’ll be hard to get to Palpatine or his warehouse. It’s not the first time someone’s wanted to search his property. Palpatine’s used to police raids and nosy private eyes.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Anakin said. “Will you get mad at me if I get arrested for breaking and entering? Do I need to call someone to post my bail? Because Obi-wan swore off doing that.” 

She smiled. It was small, and still directed at her glass, but it was there. “Luckily for you, Palpatine likes to rub elbows with the higher ups of all criminal enterprises. Typically, I decline. But I happen to have one gilded invitation for myself and one strapping young lad of my choosing. One night only. Wear a suit.” She stood and stepped into the hallway. Anakin sat back, waiting for her return. She did come back with a black envelope, Amidala’s address written on it with gold ink. She opened it to find a matching invitation, which she handed to him.

“This invitation is for tomorrow night,” Anakin said, reading the invitation. “And it’s for a ball. As your plus one.”

“As I said, wear a suit,” she said. Then she gained a wide and contagious smile. “Actually, forget that. I have a better idea. Come back in the morning. I won’t be here. Breha Organa and I are going shopping, and I’ll be out for most of the day. But I’ll have my best tailor here. You’ve met Rabe. She’ll make you the perfect suit. And we’ll make sure no one will even question your presence. You’ll blend right in with the no-gooders and scumbags at the party.” 


End file.
